I was walking along the Tennessee Valley Trail trying out James Finley’s suggestion for mystic contemplation, inhaling the Universe’s goodness with “I love you” and exhaling back my own “I love you.” I glanced down and there in the center of the path stretched the tiniest garter snake I had ever seen. She did what snakes usually do: bolted for the grass on the side of the path. But then, she stopped. She just stayed there on side of the trail. I stood for a long time, watching her. Then I wondered if she would mind if I sat down.
I sat down. The snake stayed. There we were, two sister creatures, two vestiges of God’s creation, as St. Bonaventure says. We enjoyed the same sun on our backs. We both put our faces to the breeze. The snake slowly waved her head back and forth. I wondered what garter snakes eat when they are too tiny to eat a mouse. I exhaled, “I love you.” She exhaled, “I love you, too.”
I stuck my foot out from where I was sitting and took this picture just so you could see how tiny this snake was.
It was a busy day on the trail. People tramped by talking politics and relationships. The snake and I just stayed.
Finally, slowly, slowly, she crept into the grass; so slowly that I had to watch for a while to see her progress. I couldn’t actually see her move. And then, with a sudden silent whoosh, she was gone.
And I continued on my way.
Contemplative Seeing 